


Diamond into Graphite

by romanatrix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mind Palace, Not today anyway, good luck friendos, i promise i won't make anyone cry, some nice kissing too ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanatrix/pseuds/romanatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finally shows Jim his feelings for him. But is it too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diamond into Graphite

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! grab your tissues and get a cup of hot tea, because it is time for a nice sheriarty story. enjoy! (for the record, i am not sorry for this). 
> 
> also special thanks for sam (westingwood on tumblr) for beta-ing this oneshot!

"Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

It was the second time Jim presented himself this way. Then again, he always had a flair for the dramatic. That was Jim. That was Moriarty. 

"I bet you pose here for your deductions. I don’t doubt it’s a wonderful performance; you always liked to show off, especially for me.” Jim let out a loud sigh as he reclined on the cushions. His jacket was hung, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Sherlock kept his eyes on the criminal. Jim seemed so… comfortable. At home, almost. Jim had settled; he wasn't going anywhere for a while. His lips shaped every vexing word that came forth from his mouth, the infamous Irish accent curling every other syllable. It flowed with grace, almost with elegance. Sherlock stayed silent, eyes still on Jim. What could he want? What relevance did this visit have? 

"You know the trouble about attachments?" Jim turned to Sherlock, making certain he was paying attention. “They're inevitable.”

Sherlock sighed. A past version of detective would have argued otherwise. Maintain about how he didn't feel, how emotions were an enigma to him. But now, today, this moment, such an argument is void to Sherlock. 

Mycroft had taught Sherlock about the dangers of caring, but Sherlock had thrown caution to the wind. He had spiraled into an attachment too tight to let go of (though there was no reason that he would want to), but the rope was cut short. 

It's not that Sherlock cared for Jim (well, it wasn't the reason the attachment appeared in the first place). A better word was satisfied, or awe-struck. Jim was absolutely fascinating and unpredictable, better than any drug Sherlock could get his hands on. Even better, it was all wrapped up in sharp cheekbones and an Irish accent. 

"They're annoying, to say the least. They're a weakness to me, as they serve no purpose at all besides intruding plans,” Jim continued, standing up as he did. He drew close to Sherlock, who had stood up, too. 

"But even I couldn't avoid it." Jim's voice held a tone of disappointment. "Though it seems you escaped it unscathed. Perhaps you're the exception."

It was confusing at first, watching himself fall. Where he would land was a blur, and Sherlock couldn't control something for once. The emotions crawled inside him, slowly. The mercy of the detective was thrown to the wind, and it wasn't until he realized Jim was with him in the fall. They were plunging into the unknown with no control, no direction. It was a change of scenery, a scene Sherlock didn't want to enter; but he was falling ever since Carl Powers. 

"No." As a chemist, Sherlock knew there were always exceptions to experiments. The outliers that didn't react or reacted too much or too badly were never counted as something important, as they were a minority of the prime result. The only place they would be mentioned was the results page of the lab report, maybe even the conclusion of they were lucky. Sherlock was an outlier, indeed. 

"Oh? It was Irene, wasn't it?" 

Their eyes deadlocked, seeing who would deduce the other first. Jim's question hung in the air, daring Sherlock to confirm it. Irene did hold Sherlock's heart for a mere moment, but never mind that; could Jim not see that his feelings were not unrequited? It dawned on the detective that Jim had never truly been loved or wanted. All the criminal's life, the world had slowly bitten the softness Jim had had, leaving him to evolve a harder shell, one without love or care. A protective shell to shield himself from emotion, something he believed to be a weakness, something that life could abstain from. With this, Jim lived on, observing and loathing love from afar. Sherlock had underestimated this, even though he thought his actions to be quite out of his normal, cold self. Perhaps something more obvious would do the trick. 

Sherlock stepped forward, their faces closer, their eyes staring deeper into the galaxies of their souls. But it was he that broke their gaze in order to kiss Jim. 

A rush of adrenaline was all Sherlock could feel when their lips connected. Several times had he had a desire to finally taste Jim's lips, and here he was. At first, the kiss continued as a bit cumbersome, causing Sherlock to slow down and for Jim to follow suit. 

"Really?" 

The kiss was short lived, however, as Jim pulled away, with Sherlock's lips chasing the criminal's for a short moment. Sherlock opened his eyes, looking upon a doubtful Jim. There was no snarky undertone, no intention of mockery. Only a look of genuine surprise. 

"Then why didn't you—"

Sherlock kissed him again before Jim could finish, this time deeper. Jim followed after some further hesitation, hand in Sherlock's hair to drag him closer. Sherlock grabbed his other hand, gently holding it as his lips parted with each kiss. A kiss to lock them in the moment. A kiss to remind them who they are. A kiss to reinforce the relevance of this. A kiss to prove it all. 

Jim found it so hard. Or perhaps he was just making Sherlock admit it out loud for laughs. But what goal would that achieve? What would be the reason? Then again, this is Moriarty. But it is only a game Jim would play if he knew the outcomes. The Jim in front of him, the Jim who was extra pretty today so Sherlock would notice, the Jim whose lips were almost too eager, wanting to believe this was happening, the Jim with slightly rosy cheeks. This was no game; it was real. It felt real. Real emotions, real surprises, real everything. It had to be. 

Sherlock’s fingers trailed along Jim’s forearm. The cold feel of Jim’s skin made Sherlock's fingertips tingle; it was a break from the hot air and tension between the two.To have Jim, to have him tangible here and now, that was all that mattered. 

But Sherlock couldn't shake the feeling that something was off; he couldn't quite place it, however. He stopped moving his fingers and laid them still on Jim's wrist, trying to listen to the heart that had once pumped at the same rate his did. It was on the rooftop that the detective had felt Sherlock’s heartbeat perfectly aligned with Jim’s. Truly, they were one. the detective had felt it Sherlock kept on kissing Jim, hoping his hunch was incorrect. _He has to be here. He has to be alive._

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Jim had once again pulled away. His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes giving a questioning look. Immediately Sherlock felt a pang of… of something. It was a mix of fear, regret, and anger. Every negative feeling was bubbling inside the detective, ready to burst when the bottle was opened; who knew someone could make Sherlock feel so much? 

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Jim's voice held an unforgiving, questioning tone, the Irish accent dotting on the anger Jim contained. But his blue eyes were poignant, disappointed. 

"I said it now." Sherlock's kissing continued, the roughness increasing. The detective's hold grew more firm, and his body grew closer in order to get a taste of Jim. This wasn't real life, only a mere visit to a dark side of Sherlock's mind palace. It is the only place Jim resides now, despite his spontaneous visits lessening. Sherlock was attempting to keep Jim here in his mind, to keep him from fading. Already in his life was Jim fading into the distance, his name only remembered in the records; Sherlock did not need the mind palace to be empty of him as well. 

"Too late."


End file.
